


Junction Point

by pantswarrior



Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Blacksmithing, Community: areyougame, Gen, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:09:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the hour before dusk, Sydney seeks, and finds, a mortal sort of reassurance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Junction Point

The city was alive as she had not been for many years, since the great quake. She was a part of him, this city, and Sydney could feel the tides of power, the swells beneath the ground and the ocean, where no mortal eye could see. It was exhilarating to feel her stirring to life once more - and not only with the Dark. The streets were filled with swarms of armored knights, and in the darker places, stranger creatures prowled in much the same manner. Almost a mirror image, he mused - the city and the caverns beneath. They would become all but identical when the sun sank low, for the Dark had long been starved for new flesh.

Somewhere among them, Hardin led the boy and the inquisitor through a maze of broken buildings; elsewhere, Guildenstern was sending his men to death and undeath. Rosencrantz was somewhere as well, undoubtedly preparing for his ultimate gambit. What the man may have decided was beyond Sydney, for Rosencrantz was one of the many unknowns in the tale about to reach its climax.

The unknown of foremost concern was Riot, and he was an unknown of an entirely different sort. Sydney could sense him, for the Dark had already affirmed the choice. That portion of the power which lay within Sydney was crying out just as the city; having long sustained his body past the limits of endurance, it hungered for someone new and untouched. Perhaps someone who was more... malleable.

Neither Guildenstern nor Rosencrantz had the strength of character to resist the Dark; Sydney was certain of it. Both men craved power, and if Guildenstern less for his own sake, it made little difference. Sydney had seen a glimpse of Riot's heart, and he had no such longing. The Riskbreaker already had enough power for his liking, perhaps too much. For a moment, Sydney's guilt stung more sharply. This was, after all, no blessing he was about to bestow.

Yet it was not by his choice. The gods had sent him visions for many years, and the Lady had given him a sign. Ashley Riot was the one to be his successor, to rule beyond the Gran Grimoire. The gods did not err in their judgment. Sydney, however, was still a mere man; the years of immortality had not destroyed his human heart, and he could not help but have his doubts, particularly now that the hour grew close.

Sydney also felt another distinctly human longing - a wish for comfort. The gods were the gods, yes; benevolent, yet distant. Müllenkamp had been mortal so long past that she was more akin to them than to himself. Hardin would gladly have offered comfort, but he knew not what was to come, and Sydney did not dare to tell him.

But then, Sydney had seldom had anyone to give comfort when he had been young and mortal. His comfort had been in knowledge, observation and research, the seeking of a solution to that which troubled him. It was to that technique that he now turned, and he let the Dark cloud his physical form as it took him to the Riskbreaker.

Riot had been still for some time, according to the Dark's whispered reports. He was in a small building inside the Town Center, and that was where the Dark brought Sydney, to a simple workshop. The Riskbreaker's back was towards Sydney or his point of arrival; a good soldier, Sydney supposed, would have been facing the door. But Riot's attention was not on the door, save for the moments when a knight's armored boots clattered on the stones outside.

Instead, Riot's attention was on the anvil, where Sydney saw that he was repairing his armor.

Within the Dark's protective cloak, Sydney's lips curled in amusement. At first it would have seemed an absurd task, given what the Riskbreaker had been faced with since dawn. But at a second glance, it was most pragmatic. After all Riot had seen, he did not yet fully trust in the old powers and what he could work with them. It was only natural that he should maintain the defense with which he was familiar.

Yet he was not only maintaining, Sydney began to realize as Riot reached for the tongs, bringing another plate of metal from within the flame. Rather, Riot was using his own armor and that of one of the Blades, making something entirely new.

Sydney knew little about the forging of metal; he had seen a blacksmith at work from time to time, contracted by his father, but his interests had lain elsewhere. His interest lay with Riot now, however, and he watched the Riskbreaker work by the glow of the forge. He observed the way Riot heated the metal, eyed the glow when he pulled it forth and then replaced it. Sydney heard his heart's whisper, _a few moments longer_ , before it was satisfied, allowing him to resume his work.

The hammer's clang seemed too loud, a sure sign of something amiss for the Blades to investigate, but now and then Riot paused, waiting until they had passed before continuing. The metal cooled, of course, with each second, and Riot repeated the process numerous times as he folded the metals together solidly, hammering them into a singular plate. He reached up to wipe his brow, for the heat was oppressive inside the small workshop, but never did his expression show discomfort. In fact, he went to the bellows again, the muscles of his arms bulging, alight with golden beads of sweat as he urged the fire on.

It was simply a smith's work environment, Sydney realized. Riot did not object to the heat, because he understood that it was necessary. That manner of understanding would serve him well in the Dark, which even Sydney would seldom consider to be comfortable.

Like the heated metal Riot now worked across the anvil, the Dark could be useless if not properly controlled, dangerous if one without knowledge claimed it. But in the hands of one with strength and determination, it could be forged into a shape most effective, perhaps even pleasing. Sydney quickly recognized that Riot was making poleyns, curving the metal about the horn of the anvil and smoothing the edges so as not to bite into his skin if jostled. It was an issue which Sydney had never considered, the care that might go into the making of a suit of armor. He watched, and considered.

Hardin's Sight had shown them the Riskbreaker's courage upon first entering the tunnels that led to the city, the way Riot stood his ground when even the earth itself threatened him. He braced himself, respecting its power, but he did not fear nor despair. Now, Sydney observed, he showed the same face to the other elements, summoning the wind through the bellows. The fire was never allowed to pass its boundaries; he reigned over it, putting it to his work. When a glowing cinder dared to drift to his bare shoulder, he brushed it away as if it were no more than a gnat - a harmless annoyance. The water as well, when he was finished, hissed and billowed as he plunged the hot metal beneath its surface, and he did not so much as flinch while letting it cool his new creation.

Only the tasks of a mortal man, Sydney acknowledged. Yet Riot understood the elements, their attributes and how they behaved, and he had mastered them in the ways that his work required. Surely he would do the same in this new position he faced - and already he had become familiar with the Dark. No doubt he would be every bit as stern with that fey element as he had with the more mundane, for he likewise appeared to feel no apprehension regarding it.

No, Sydney thought to himself, considering what he had seen in the man's heart, the tree in the meadow and his own sword dripping with blood; _if Riot fears any element, it is that Light which illumines the truth._ Perhaps that would be the final deciding factor - his last trial to overcome before he was permitted to gain the power.

The most difficult part of his reworking complete, Riot set aside hammer and tongs and turned his attention to the fastenings, leather straps and small iron buckles, for his work was not yet finished. Nor was Sydney's, the prophet had to acknowledge, though he liked watching Ashley in the workshop - but the gods had given him a measure of comfort in allowing him this respite. As a Riskbreaker, Riot was accustomed to facing such tasks as mortal men might consider intimidating or difficult and not only enduring, but excelling.

His time was growing shorter; the sunlight through the window was beginning to dim. Encouraged and renewed by this display of Riot's strength and skill, Sydney bid the Dark take him elsewhere. As it did so, he could not refrain from whispering a word of farewell. _May we meet again, Ashley, before the night has come._

Dimly, he saw Riot glance over his shoulder. Yet if the gods had decreed they would not again meet in the realm of the living, Sydney was certain that Ashley and the Dark would manage without him.


End file.
